


Breaking Point

by ShadowBiscuit



Series: Hell on Earth [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angry Dean, Angst, Bottom Sam, Crowley wants revenge, Demon Blood Addiction, Demon Dean, Hurt Sam, Knife Play, M/M, Memory Alteration, Possessive Behavior, Scared Sam, Slight torture, Top Dean, also drunk Sam, and he gets it, well i did it, who needs happy endings anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBiscuit/pseuds/ShadowBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As requested, more or less:</p><p>A week passed after the events of "Can't Let You Know" and Crowley is back for more, making Sam realize that if he was to stay with his demon brother, his body might not be the only thing in grave danger. So he does the only thing that he can think of, the only option that was never really an option, something that he knows he really shouldn't do, but does it anyway.<br/>He runs away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> For winchestiel. I hope you'll like it, even though it didn't quite turn out the way I expected... <3

Sam felt at ease. It was rather odd, this strange calm that has descended on him, and he did feel suspicious about it from time to time, but it was nice. Calm and relaxing, unless of course Dean was playing with him.

Then he couldn’t really keep calm and he screamed until it felt like thousands of razors were clawing at his throat.

It has been maybe a year now, maybe just months, or maybe less, Sam couldn’t really tell. The demon had removed the calendar from the bunker, and even when Sam managed to check the date on the laptop, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact date when his brother claimed him in the worst way possible. It was odd, as he would have thought he’d remember something like that, something so damn traumatizing, but nothing. But he usually discarded these thoughts with a shrug, since no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t really remember anything anyway.

Then Crowley showed up.

It was early morning and Sam wasn’t supposed to be awake yet. He couldn’t really be awake, as the previous night the demon had decided to do something that resembled marathon sex, which left Sam completely spent and exhausted, and totally high on blood that Dean first forced into his mouth, then forbid from him when Sam begged for more. He wondered if getting more and more used to the fucking and the blood was a good or bad thing, but when he sat up on the bed and winced in terrible pain, he knew that it wasn’t just bad—it was sick.

But these sort of thoughts usually stopped at that, Sam getting a horrible headache each time he tried to remember just why exactly he considered the situation he was in fucked up.

So there he was, quickly lying back down because the pain in his ass was just too much, wondering why he was awake. He still felt tired and exhausted beyond words, felt his eyelids slowly closing shut, but then just before drifting back to sleep, he realized why he couldn’t.

He realized he wasn’t alone.

He was up in a split-second, not caring about the searing pain in his ass because this presence wasn’t Dean. He would have probably freaked out a bit if the demon was to suddenly appear in the room and demand to go for another round, because that much sex would probably make him faint or something, but it wasn’t him. Sam could smell the sulfur, sense the demon, but it wasn’t Dean. It was someone else, someone familiar but some of the pieces of the puzzle were still missing from his brain.

That is, until he turned on the light next to the bed.

“Well, well, well,” Crowley mused, sitting comfortably on a chair pulled close to the bed, “took you long enough to notice me. Though I must say, I liked your sleeping face better. This one is too alive for my liking.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sam demanded, suddenly confused and angry, but terrified for some reason.

The demon raised an eyebrow at him, then scoffed. “Déjà vu, am I right? Oh wait, that’s right; poor little Moose has got some short term amnesia going for him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t! That’s what amnesia does to you. Or, well…what some crafty demon powers can do to a human brain,” Crowley said lowly and with a small chuckle, before leaning forward and into the light. Sam gaped at him until the demon rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes. I know, I’m even more attractive with this bad boy, beat-up look.”

Crowley looked like shit. He had bruises all over his face and when he shifted in the chair, he frowned as if in pain. That made Sam wonder who on earth could do that to the King of Hell, but it wasn’t long before the penny dropped.

“Did Dean beat you up?” he asked in awe, even more confused than before, then as he remembered what the demon said a few seconds ago, he narrowed his eyes at Crowley. “What’s wrong with my brain…?”

The demon sighed, then let out a short, wicked laugh that had Sam shuddering in discomfort.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he said, shaking his head. “Thank the King that your rabid brother isn’t here right now, or else he’d send me to my second grave for this.” He then stood up and wandered over to the bed, reaching out to Sam, who was glaring and crawling away from him.

“Get the Hell away from me Crowley!” he spat. “I have no idea what’s going on, but if you come any closer, I will kick the shit out of you.”

“Yeah, because you did such a great job at that last time,” the demon snorted, flashing a vicious grin at Sam when he scowled. “Listen, Moose, you wouldn’t get it even if I’d take my precious time to explain it to you, so let _this_ do the explaining instead.”

He was fast, even in the sorry state he seemed to be in, and Sam was already too tired to run. In a moment, Crowley got him by his hair and pulled him closer, and while Sam did try to claw and punch and kick at him, the demon’s hold was too strong. Then he suddenly stopped protesting altogether when a sweaty hand got pressed against his forehead and several images flashed before his mind’s eyes, revealing information that have been locked away.

Sam gasped, shoving Crowley away from him as soon as the wild flow of memories subsided. He was panting heavily and staring forward, wide-eyed and shocked so much that he needed a good minute to even find his voice.

“See how helpful I am, returning your memories? Let me tell you, it was hard, but thirst for revenge can be a really good motivation,” Crowley said all the while smirking down at Sam. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“You…” Sam’s voice trailed off, not even knowing what was real and what wasn’t. His brother’s cruelty knew no boundaries, and Sam felt somehow betrayed, even emptier than before. He remembered everything, Crowley’s attempted rape, Dean admitting to using his powers on his brain and being a complete asshole about it, too.

“Cat got your tongue?” Crowley taunted the broken man, stepping closer to the bed at the same time as Sam slid against the headboard and looked up at the demon.

“You wanted to kill me, you son of a bitch,” he hissed through gritted teeth, clutching the sheets in anger.

“Yes, I did. And it would be so easy to make you take it and then gut you right here and now, with your sweet and deadly brother gone, but I’m keeping my hands to myself,” the demon said as he raised his hands, before crossing his arms. “Because while breaking you even more would bring me great amount of joy, breaking your brother…now that would be better than human blood.”

“Breaking Dean?” Sam asked with an incredulous snort, hoping that Crowley couldn’t sense the fear in his voice, because unfortunately, that sly and dangerous glint in the demon’s eyes was seriously starting to freak him out. “You really think you could break a Knight of Hell? Didn’t you learn not to piss him off? Or do you actually enjoy getting hurt?”

Crowley made a low growling sound in his throat and glared at him. “After so many goddamn years, you still don’t get it? I thought you figured it out by now, but I guess I’ve overestimated your intelligence as a _pet_ ,” he spat, sneering at Sam. “You two are connected, so codependent that it’s way past unhealthy. Though that should be obvious; you just need to take one look at the situation you’re in and you’d understand. Dean Winchester is fucking his enslaved little brother. Don’t tell me that’s normal. He keeps you locked in here, all for himself, desperate to own you in every single bloody way possible. So if I want to get to him, I need to do it through you. And what better way to hurt that big bad demon, than to ruin his life’s work? To make his pathetic little toy realize just how much he’s been wronged and used?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sam found himself saying, just to contradict the overly smug-looking demon. “I already knew that Dean was using me, come on! It’s obvious, he’s a demon, and it’s not like he erased everything.”

“But he erased what really matters. He’s gaining control over your _everything_ , Sam. Do not tell me that does not bother you.”

And damn it all, Crowley was right. At this rate, if this was to continue, Dean would not only ruin his body but also his mind. And Sam could not afford that. Because sure, the torture and the blood and the rape, all of it was fucking horrible and amazing in the most twisted way. It left him crying and shaking and wishing to die many times, but at least each time his body got broken, he had his mind mending the wounds. He was himself, was Sam Winchester throughout all those torture sessions, with his own thoughts, regrets, his own guilt and shame and moral slowly shattering to tiny little pieces. But with Dean taking even that away from him, forbidding him from his own goddamn feelings and controlling him so fully, pulling his strings like a sadistic puppeteer…

Sam couldn’t do it. He couldn’t, just could not take that. He would break for real, stop being himself and turn into a complete stranger, into a shadow of the man he once was. He would become a pet and only a pet, no rebellion whatsoever, any and every thing that has once made him Sam Winchester, the son, brother and hunter, cruelly robbed from him. And he could take all the pain, everything that Dean might do to him, but only as long as he was Sam. The moment he’d stop being himself would be the moment he would die in every sense of the term, rot away on the inside until there would be nothing but a hollow shell left, a body to be used and taken apart by anyone.

He didn’t realize that he was shaking until Crowley snapped his fingers in front of his face, making Sam blink and look up him with wide, terror-stricken eyes.

“Welcome back, princess,” the demon said mockingly, before turning on his heal and walking to the door. Stopping in front of it, he looked back over his shoulder and grinned at the man, saying, “I suggest you run while you can.”

And then he was gone in a blink of an eye.

Sam didn’t have to be told twice. He jumped out of the bed and found a duffel bag hid away in the corner of a cupboard. He quickly picked up anything that more or less looked like wearable clothes and stuffed them into the bag with frantic movements, then rushed to the bathroom and did the same there. He then ran to the kitchen, panting and jumping each time he heard a noise from somewhere around the bunker, but soon had his bag full of clothes and food and everything else he’d need to survive.

He took a moment to breathe, then, leaning against a counter and fighting back tears. He really was going to do it. He really was going to run away. Not even daring to think about what would happen if Dean was to ever catch him, Sam swallowed his nervousness, grabbed the duffel bag and marched over to the garage. Dean took the Impala like usual. He took it out for a ride from time to time, either while visiting a bar or going grocery shopping for Sam. This time, he was pretty sure that the demon was out buying some tools; he could vaguely remember him grumbling about how the chains were getting rusty somewhere and he needed to replace them.

That left some more cars lying around in the garage and, after making sure that the one he picked had still some gas in it, Sam steeled his resolve and slid behind the wheel. He has dreamed about this moment ever since Dean fucked him for the first time, ever since he drank the demon’s blood, ever since he made Sam say those three words that he never meant like that, never wanted it to be like that. Dean, his brother, has turned into a monster and Sam has been wanting to run from him from the moment he realized that he couldn’t help him, because Dean refused to change. And Sam had to laugh, had to let the tears escape him, because a part of him wished to stay. A part of him wanted to crawl back into that bed and wait for the demon, for his _owner_ to return, wanted to feel the rare but sweet touches just as much as the rough and claiming ones, wanted to taste his brother’s blood on his tongue, to feel his touch, his firm hands, his soft lips, all of him. It made him shiver, a sick but pleasant shiver, and Sam knew that he was already broken in a way, because even though he hated this so goddamn much, he still felt somewhat safe because it was all Dean, his big brother whom he couldn’t live without, some fucked up part of him seeking attention, even if that attention was painful in so, so many ways.

“Damn it…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and sniffing as he leaned against the wheel. He needed to leave, now or never. He would never get a chance like this again because Dean would surely realize what Crowley had done and he’d erase his memories again. That made him wonder why his brother was doing it in the first place. Sure, Sam was usually a crying and rebellious mess, but could that really push Dean to erase a part of his own brother?

He sighed, because he really didn’t know anymore. Dean was a demon, and who knew why he did things?

So he quickly blinked away some more tears that threatened to blind him as he drove the car through the tunnel, then away from the bunker. He knew he’d have to ditch the car as soon as he was far enough from that place now filled with bad memories, but he didn’t mind. It was still dark outside, but it has been a while that he’s been outside at all, and he couldn’t help but let a small and miserable smile cross his face as he rolled down the window and breathed in the fresh air.

From now on, he would need to be extra careful, live under a rock and move in the shadows if he didn’t want to be caught. And he really, really didn’t want to get caught. He got punished for lesser things, punishments that left him bleeding and unable to move, let alone walk, for days. So what kind of punishment would he get for running away? Sam swallowed and bit down on his bottom lip, refusing to even consider the possibility of seeing his brother ever again.

And as the bunker disappeared behind him, somehow the thought of never seeing Dean again made his chest ache…

—

He needed everything to be perfect, for his Sammy. He did it all for his little brother, went to the greatest of lengths just for him.

So why couldn’t he understand?

Dean dumped the chains and ropes he bought in the room specifically made for torture and more. He glanced at his watch and felt himself smirk, knowing that his pet would be asleep still, weak and the most fragile at these times. He thought about sneaking in their room and making his Sammy take it like this, his body delicate and hole oversensitive. He thought about taking him by surprise, mounting him suddenly and violently, ravishing him until he got nice and bloody, screaming and breathing and living just for Dean. But he didn’t do it, didn’t do any of that, because first he needed to set up the stage; make sure that everything was in order in their little nest of suffering and delight, upgrade his toys.

And while doing so, he smiled to himself, feeling extremely proud. Sure, he still had to work a lot on his newfound powers, but alternating Sammy’s memories proved to be one of his greatest ideas yet. No more doubts and hatred, no more tear-filled protests, no more breakdowns. Only sweet and cruel love, everything and anything Dean had always wanted.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

So when he decided to pay a visit to Sam, after generously waiting one more hour so his pet would get enough sleep, why couldn’t he find him?

Dean scowled until his forehead hurt, shouting from the top of his lungs and roaming the bunker in search for his missing pet. He felt a slight wave of panic and dread, but he quickly pushed them down, replacing horror with fury as he got to the garage and noticed the missing car. He felt like exploding then, roaring in rage and trashing the place, cursing that little bitch for leaving him, for daring to escape. He had no idea how that was possible, as Sam wasn’t even supposed to consider the slightest idea of running from him, from his owner and brother, from the demon he undeniably belonged to. Dean made sure of that. So then how the fuck did this happen?

He looked for clues, then felt an even stronger anger when he sensed the other demon. Standing in their room, he glared at a chair placed next to the bed, and Dean could smell that slimy fucker. He was there; Crowley was here, and whatever he had done to Sam, Dean was going to make sure the King of Hell would never be able to lift a finger ever again. He would personally rip each and every meaty digit out, stuff them down the demon’s throat, maybe chop him up nice and slow and make him eat himself, all the while keeping that son of a bitch alive.

But that could wait. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and anyway, right now he had other things to worry about. The one that got away… Dean had to laugh. He let it all out—his anger and sorrow, the pain of betrayal, the suffering the familiar ache in his chest caused—and laughed, because Sam was foolish. Such a stupid puppy, thinking he could run away from him. From Dean! Well, sweet Sammy could run all he wanted, cower in a corner and hope to disappear, but Dean would always find him. They were bonded, he knew they were, so it was only a matter of time before he’d find his missing pet.

His laugh gradually died down and then the rage was back again. Because Sam had defied him. It didn’t matter what Crowley did to him, that swine would get what’s coming to him, because Sam still chose to run instead of waiting for him. He ran like a coward, like a prisoner, like an animal suddenly released from its cage. And Dean had honestly thought that he tamed the animal, turned the hound into an obedient little puppy, but it seemed like he was wrong. He was also at fault here, underestimating his little brother. And as much as that filled him with seething anger, it also made him want to scream in pain. Damn, he knew Sammy hated him, heard it from the man’s own mouth, but he never considered the possibility that he’d actually make a run for it. It was so pathetic because Dean hoped that his brother never meant it, that all the blood and sex would change him. And it did change him, just not the way he wanted Sam to change. Sam broke, his body, heart and soul shattering to a million pieces under the demon’s blade and tongue. He became his, just not in the way that truly mattered, the only way it really mattered…

But he couldn’t let his disappointment and sorrow distract him. Sam ran and that meant disobeying the demon, which in turn meant Dean would have to punish him. He’d have to hunt the man down and make him understand, once and for all, what their life has become, because it seemed like Sam was still holding onto this delusion that he could survive alone, function without Dean. His poor little brother had no idea how wrong he was, but that was fine.

It was fine because Dean was determined to finally put a stop this cat and mouse chase, proving to Sam once and for all that accepting his fate was his only option.

—

Days passed and Sam couldn’t believe that he got away with it; for now.

After ditching the car, he crossed the nearby woods until he reached a road, where he got picked up by a car that took him to the other side of town. There, he bought a bus ticket and traveled for days, before finally reaching the next State.

He booked a room in a hotel—as using a motel might be too risky—and decided to lay low for a little while longer, before continuing his journey. He even thought about buying an airplane ticket and travelling to UK.

But that could wait. Right now, he had to somehow get through the world’s cruelest mistress—withdrawal.

He sat on a stool at the bar not too far from the hotel, desperately trying to replace alcohol with demon blood, with Dean’s fucking delicious blood, in vain. He felt the symptoms two days ago and the withdrawal has been getting worse each time the hunger overtook him, shouting at him to find a crossroad and just drink already. The shots of alcohol numbed his mind and body, but not his hunger. He hoped he could pass out or something, but no, he was sweating and his hands were shaking, both his heartbeat and breathing accelerating to an alarming rate as he stared into the empty glass, trying to will it all away. And it was killing him, like a slow poison, forbidding him from focusing on anything but his pulse in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself that it’d all go away in time, he’d just have to stay strong and fight. He has come so far already, he couldn’t give up now, not now or ever.

But God, it was so damn hard.

The conversations buzzed around him, the lights too intense and burning his eyes, and Sam was gripping the shot glass until it broke, then kept clutching it. A pitiful sound escaped him at the pain of the glass shards cutting into his skin, a part of him welcoming and fucking missing the pain, and he lowered his head because he was panting, clenching his jaw and bloody fist. Seemingly minutes, but probably only seconds passed, before he felt a hand on his shoulder and he gasped, his unfocused and slightly dazed eyes blinking at the stranger’s direction.

“Whoa, dude, are you alright?” the man asked, surprise and worry audible in his voice as he glanced from Sam’s bleeding hand to his face.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, hissing in pain now that the moment was gone. “M’fine,” he muttered, looking away from the man to scowl at his hand, then began carefully picking out the shards embedded in his skin.

“Yeah and I’m the illegitimate son of Queen Elizabeth the second,” the man joked, apparently not falling for Sam’s act. He then took a seat in the stool next to his, asked for a glass of water from the barman, then took a hold of Sam’s wrist, pulling his injured hand closer.

“Look, I said I’m fine,” Sam protested with a sigh, but the man frowned at him.

“Which is such an obvious lie I’m not even going to try to argue with you over it,” he stated. “But anyway, you’re bleeding and look like shit, so pardon me for trying to act like a decent human being and make your day a little better.”

He flashed a reassuring smile at Sam, before slowly proceeding to pull each and every tiny shard from his hand, then dipped a napkin in the glass of water in front of him, before cleaning his palm. Sam wanted to roll his eyes and yank his hand away, wanted to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but honestly, this was the first genuine act of kindness he has received in who knows how long, so it was kinda nice.

Sam let the man clean his hand, taking a good look at him for the first time. He seemed tall, maybe even as tall as him, and a few years younger, with dark brown curls and matching eyes. He reminded Sam of his past self and he couldn’t help but smile a little, which the man noticed, immediately smiling back at him.

“Finally,” he said, his smile widening. “You’ve got a great smile. I suggest you use it more often, instead of looking like someone who just got his whole house burned down.” He laughed, then cleared his throat and gave Sam a serious look. “Please tell me I didn’t just make a horribly inappropriate joke and your house really did burn down…”

Sam laughed. He couldn’t remember the last him he laughed. “No, don’t worry, you’re fine,” he said, shaking his head when the man let out a relieved sigh and flashed another smile at him.

“I’m Marcus, by the way.” He extended a hand to shake, which Sam accepted after a moment of hesitation, shaking it with his good hand.

“Sam,” he said before turning back to look as the bartender cleaned the mess he made with the glass, tempted to ask for another shot, but he could already feel the withdrawal faltering a bit. It usually came in waves and, thankfully, this wave was retreating, though not disappearing.

“Well, Sam,” the man continued, drawing his attention, “wanna talk about that?” He nodded to Sam’s injured hand and raised an eyebrow questioningly, his curiosity appearing genuine enough, without any maliciousness, however Sam had learned not to judge a book by its cover.

He shrugged. “Bad day.”

“Uh-huh…” Marcus nodded, not convinced in the least. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but people don’t usually murder a glass over just a ‘bad day’.”

Sam stayed silent for a long moment, running his hand through his hair, then glanced at the man who was watching him intently. “Very bad day?”

“Better,” he said with a small smile. “What else? Wife leave you? Boss being an asshole?”

“Kind of.” Sam made a sort of nervous chuckle as he scratched the back of his head. “More like I left.”

“Abusive relationship?” Marcus suddenly asked, making him stare at the man until he flashed him a sad little smile, then reached out and moved Sam’s collar out of the way. “Can see the scars when you move. Cuts and bruises and, if I’m as good at recognizing them as I think, bite marks. And not the gentle kind, either.”

Pushing Marcus’ hand away, Sam averted his eyes and wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just nodded after a while.

“Male or female?”

“What’s up with all these questions, anyway?” he snapped, getting defensive. “Why the hell do you care?”

The man stared at him for a while, and then it was his turn to make a nervous sound. “Well, first of all, you seem like you could use a good rant. Venting out your anger and sadness usually helps, you know? Talking about it and stuff,” he said with a thin smile. “And also, you’re really good looking. I realize I really shouldn’t have said that to a man having such a shit day, and hitting on you right now is probably the worst idea ever, but…it would be nice knowing if I have a chance or not.”

“You wanna know if I’m gay?” Sam asked incredulously, and the man nodded sheepishly. He wondered how to answer to that, as even he wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself, but then decided to just go with what he believed to be true; even if he despised himself for it. “Not really. I mean I might be for one person, for this…special person. But he’s the only one.”

“Is that the same guy that’s been beating you?” Marcus asked. He bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself from reacting in any way, then just shrugged. “Well… I guess I can understand why you can’t see yourself with another guy after something like that,” Marcus said softly, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder. He kept it there for longer than necessary, making him uneasy, until Sam couldn’t take it anymore and stood up with a quick smile.

“Uh, thanks. But it’s getting late and I’ve gotta go. Was nice talking to you, though,” Sam said, muttering a low goodbye as he half-walked, half-staggered toward the exit.

And he might have underestimated his capacity to take alcohol, because it shouldn’t have been so hard to walk in a straight line without stray chairs and tables intentionally trying to knock him over. He was convinced that the furniture had some sort of vendetta on him, and he even considered giving one chair a good kick, but then Marcus materialized next to him and swung one of Sam’s arms around his shoulders.

“Okay pal, you’re clearly drunk. I hope you didn’t think about driving like this,” he said with a small laugh as he helped Sam out through the door.

They emerged in the alleyway, Sam wondering when it got so dark, then suddenly he was leaning against the cold wall.

“What?” He blinked threateningly at the man suddenly mere inches away from him, really not liking where this was going, but the alcohol making him weaker than he’d liked.

“Sorry, I’m usually a nice guy. And I really do like you…” Marcus said apologetically, before his face took on a darker look, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I’m never gonna get a chance like this again.”

Sam snorted, baring his teeth at the man. “So you think I’m easy prey, just ‘coz I’m drunk? Don’t fucking underestimate me, punk.”

“Punk?” Marcus laughed. “I don’t think I’m that much younger than you, though I can tell you, I do have the libido of a teenager, if you catch my drift. I could even make you forget about this very bad day of yours.”

“Sorry, but you’re nothing compared to who I was with before,” Sam sneered, grinning when he saw the pissed-off look that the man just couldn’t hide. “Yeah, he could go at it for hours; literally. You, on the other hand, would be done in less than one, I bet.”

Marcus let out a snarl-like laugh as he abruptly grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and brutally yanked his head back, exposing his throat which the man began licking. Sam felt a sudden nausea hit him, panic bubbling up inside him as he struggled and tried to break free from the man’s grasp. But Sam was weak, now even more than ever, and he growled and sobbed at the same time as he felt Marcus kiss at his skin, wanting those disgusting lips off, anything but this, getting raped by a fucking stranger in some dirty alley. When he shouted at him to fuck off, he got punched in the jaw; when he tried to shove him away, he got kneed in his damn kidney, tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks as he suddenly got turned around, his face pressed into the damp stone wall.

“Stop! Please, enough, stop it!” Sam cried, gasping when his arms got seized behind his back and twisted until he made a sound close to a whimper.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll make you feel real good in a moment, you just gotta wait a bit,” Marcus purred, the sickening sound making Sam shudder in fear and revulsion. Damn it, he was too used to taking it without putting up a fight, and he couldn’t even use any of his demon blood related power because one, he hasn’t been drinking any for days, and two, Dean had made sure to block Sam’s powers so that he couldn’t use any of them on the demon. So now he couldn’t defend himself in any way, and suddenly he found himself wishing to be back in the bunker, where it was safe and where he didn’t need to worry about the people with ulterior motive hiding behind masks, as his monster was in plain sight, relishing in the beast he had become.

His eyes flew open and he screamed when he felt the man entering him from behind, immediately rewarded by getting his head bashed into the wall and told to keep it down. It hurt so much, more than any torture, more than anything Dean had ever done to him, most of the pain emotional than physical, and now he couldn’t stop shaking and crying, wishing to just fucking die.

Then Marcus’ relentless thrusts halted as he made a gurgling sound, then suddenly the pressure was gone from his body and it was all Sam could do not to fall to the ground. He was panting heavily, hyperventilating, he realized, as he looked down at the twitching body of the man. There was a growling pool of blood underneath him, and no matter how much Sam squinted into the darkness, he couldn’t see where the man’s head has rolled off to.

And then his blood turned to ice in his veins, his breath catching in his throat as he saw Dean standing over the body with a machete in one hand, and Marcus’ head in the other. His eyes were darker than black as he stared down at the corpse, then looked at Sam, and the sheer amount of anger and bloodthirst etched onto the demon’s face made Sam fall to the ground, any strength he had left leaving him right then.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean growled in such a deep and dangerous voice, Sam was sure that this time, his brother was going to kill him. “Long time no see.”

“D-Dean…” His voice broke and he couldn’t stifle the miserable whine that left him as the demon closed in on him, Sam cowering on the ground and hoping not to piss his fucking pants in terror.

“I see you’ve been a bad boy,” he said as he stopped in front of Sam, then crouched down and grabbed the frightened man’s chin. “You run from me and then start slutting around? Is that how it is, then? I wasn’t enough for you?”

“No, that’s…Dean, I didn’t want to—”

“So you’re saying this guy just managed to overpower you?” Dean scoffed. “That you’re not just a lil’ bitch in heat who’s needing a cock up his ass so badly he’d bend over for the first guy that’s willing to screw him?”

“Dean, I’m telling you,” Sam muttered desperately, “it ain’t like that. I’m not like that, you know me.”

“But do I? Do I really know you, Sammy?” his brother snarled, suddenly grabbing him by his throat and hauling him to his feet. “’Coz I thought that you’d never run from me. I thought you were obedient, smart enough to understand that you could never run from me. That you’re my fucking property!”

The demon dug his fingers into his flesh, choking Sam, who was opening and closing his mouth in a hopeless attempt to speak or even breathe. And just when he thought that he was going to lose consciousness, Dean finally let go of him; but only his throat, as in the next moment, his brother had one hand fisted in his hair.

“You denied me. You tried to throw me away, to run from me as if I don’t matter. You betrayed me, Sammy, left me, even though you know full well that we belong together. I’m your owner and you’re my pet, mine. Your body, your mind, your soul and your heart, everything belongs to me, but you still seem to think that you could run from this truth. Well, you can’t,” he hissed lowly in Sam’s ear, before biting down on his earlobe. “And I also thought you knew me, knew not to never, _ever_ fucking make me angry. Guess I’ll just have to show you what happens when you really piss me off…”

Sam clenched his jaw, trying to remain strong, but his fear was too great. He gasped as the wall from behind him suddenly vanished and he fell on his ass, his eyes widening in shock and horror as he realized where they were. The torture room had some new tools in it, things that Sam couldn’t recognize, and it all filled him with dread, especially when he saw the wicked look in Dean’s eyes as he grinned down at him.

“Dean, I’m sorry.” He tried, though knew apologies wouldn’t get him anywhere. But he was panicking and regretting ever running from his brother, God, he was so fucking stupid! “Please, I never meant to leave, I just…”

“Never meant to leave?” Dean laughed out loud, before shooting a nasty glare his way. “Did the car kidnap you? Drive you away against your will? Was Crowley never here?”

That took Sam by surprise, and he frowned at the demon. “If you knew about Crowley then you should also have known why I left.”

“I don’t know what he told you, only that the sleazebag’s been here, in our room,” he spat.

“So you don’t know…”

“Know what? Tell me Sam, or I’ll carve it outta you.”

He averted his eyes and bit down on the inside of his cheek, taking a deep breath, then looked back at the demon. “He gave me back my memories, Dean.”

“What?!” Dean glared at him in bafflement, his glare slowly intensifying as he snarled in rage. “That son of a bitch! I will kill him. No, I will make him suffer and then kill him, nice and slow, and in front of his demons so that they could hear their King scream!”

The demon clenched his hands into fists, so hard his knuckles turned white, then shot a dark look at Sam. “So you remember everything? That’s why you ran…?”

Sam nodded because he didn’t trust his voice right now.

“Of course,” Dean said with a laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you’d run, then. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared and angry.” He quickly grabbed a hold of Sam and pushed him into what looked like a chair, however was longer, had no armrests, and was covered in a sheet of satin. “Well let me tell you, whatever you were and are feeling is nothing compared to how I feel!”

His clothes were ripped off in record time, and even though Sam writhed in the chair while his brother chained him up, he knew that protesting now would only result in even more pain. Still, he couldn’t help but ease and try to crawl away from the chains when Dean gripped his wrists and bound them above his head, the chains attached to the ceiling. There were two more of them hanging from there, and Sam’s breath hitched when one of his legs got raise as far up as his shoulder, then got secured to the chain. His other leg followed, and when his brother was done, Sam found himself in the most embarrassing, uncomfortable, and vulnerable position he’s ever been in yet, with his hands above his head and legs raised until they were vertical, his knees nearly touching his shoulders.

He didn’t dare say a word as his brother’s black and dead eyes roamed his body for a long time, or when he licked his lips hungrily; he didn’t even make a sound when he picked up a knife from the table not far from them. However, when Dean stood in front of him, slowly trailing the sharp blade down his body, then poked the tip against his already aching hole with a vicious grin, Sam felt his stomach drop and he whimpered.

“N-No Dean, please, I swear I’ll never run, just…” he begged in vain, throwing his head back and crying out as the searing pain shot up his body when his brother slid the blade into his hole, immediately slicing him and Sam could feel his warm blood tricking down his ass.

“Wrong words, Sammy. You know what I wanna hear, what you should have realized from day one, but can’t seem to get through your thick skull,” he growled, moving the knife in and out of him until Sam was crying again.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m yours, Sir, please I’m so sorry!” he screamed between sobs. “Belong to you, you own me, love you, Sir!”

The blade was gone in an instant but was replaced by Dean’s dick way too soon, making Sam tremble in fear and anger and guilt and so, so many emotions. “You’re lying, Sam,” Dean spat, sinking his nails into the man’s hips as he forced his too-thick cock in Sam’s unprepared and bleeding hole. “You don’t mean any of those. Never did. Always just saying them ‘coz I wanna hear those words coming from you, but you don’t mean them. You hate me, isn’t that right?”

Sam gasped and cried out, then couldn’t stop whining and screaming as the demon began ramming into his abused hole, fucking him hard and rough, and he couldn’t have answered now even if he wanted to. It hurt too damn much, Sam blinded by the intense pain in his body and soul as he got humiliated, everything that made him Sam Winchester slowly peeled away by this demon’s cruel hands.

“You let that man fuck you, Sammy. Fuck what’s mine! Only I can do this to you, but you know that and yet you still let him do you, acting like a cheap whore! Why’s that, huh? Hate me that much, is that it? Want to hurt me in the worst possible ways; is that your revenge, Sam?! Do you want to kill me?” Dean snapped, his hectic thrusts speeding up while his hands and mouth were constantly marking Sam all over, clawing and biting at his skin, kissing and licking and sucking and nibbling, until his whole body was either bleeding or hurting, or bearing a dark bruise.

“Hurting me so bad, all the time. You don’t even know it, do you? Or are you doin’ it on purpose? Leaving and breaking my fucking heart, Sammy, is that fun to you?” Dean hissed, and it took Sam a moment to realize that the demon has slowed down, moving in and out of him with slow, drawn-out pulls, before carefully sliding back.

Dean rolled his hips and stopped biting him, his hold also weakening on him, until he stopped completely and buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck.

“Damn you…” he mumbled, Sam too shocked to react when he noticed how his brother’s hands were shaking and, a moment later, felt something wet on his skin. “I never wanted you to hate me. You have no idea how every little thing you do and say make me feel, Sammy. Leaving me, letting others touch you, God it hurts. Why can’t you fucking realize that I need you as mine because if I don’t, I’ll break? I need you Sam, for fuck’s sake, understand it already. I can’t let you hate me, I can’t take that, I need you all for myself, need you, little brother. Can’t ever let you go, no other way around it, gotta keep what’s mine locked up.”

He sniffed, and Sam was sure now, his brother was crying. The great Knight of Hell, the demon, Dean, was crying. And then he wasn’t anymore, because he was kissing him deeply and suddenly, and damn it, it was such a desperate kiss. Sam felt sick with guilt, cursing himself for feeling shame for ever leaving the demon, couldn’t stop himself from returning the kiss. And when he bit into the demon’s lip and tasted his blood, that sweet blood he has been craving for so long, he didn’t even try to stifle his moan or stop himself from sucking on Dean’s lip, getting to as much blood as possible. They kissed until Sam needed to pull away for air, and then Dean was moving again, but still so slowly, so lovingly, and it hurt so much, because this wasn’t fair.

His brother was supposed to be a heartless monster, someone Sam could despise. He was supposed to be the demon that the ex-hunter needed to erase to get his real brother back. He was supposed to be cold and cruel. And he certainly was not supposed to be capable of hurting, of feeling emotional pain, of loving, of making Sam doubt in everything he’d built his resolve on…

And Sam was supposed to hate him, not understand his pain and place a hesitant kiss on his forehead.

Dean looked just as surprised as Sam felt at that, both of them staring at each other for a moment, searching for something in each other’s eyes. But before Sam could’ve found what he was looking for, the harsh truth that Dean was still a _demon_ let itself known when his brother let out a small growl and sped up again, nuzzling his neck and licking him.

“Sammy, mine,” he purred as his thrusts got harder and harder, Sam moaning and whimpering in pain and pleasure when Dean hit his prostate. “Mine. Mine. Mine. _Mine_!”

Sam was confused. He thought he hated Dean, loathed him for everything he did to him, for all the ungodly and messed up crap that brothers should never do. Yes, he hated him, but somehow, he felt guilty for ever saying it and could understand why his brother was so angry. Because it seemed that Dean loved him more than Sam had ever imagined, even if that love was twisted and so, so wrong.

He knew he had to make up his mind sooner or later, if he was going to accept his fate or keep fighting it, but that time didn’t have to be now, did it?

Dean kept marking and kissing at his neck and shoulders and chest, then he was grabbing Sam’s cock and began pumping it fast and rough, the pleasure slowly overwhelming the piercing pain, and it wasn’t long before they were both coming, Sam with a choked-off whine, and Dean with one of his possessive growls.

Sam felt sore and was hurting literally all over his body, but let out a long sigh when Dean unwrapped the chains from around his wrists and ankles, then slowly wrapped his legs around his waist, picked him out of the chair, and changed their position. The demon sat down with Sam in his lap, pulling him close and hugging him tight, and Sam’s chest was hurting, but the hug felt so warm and nice that he leaned into it without a second thought.

“I will never truly have you, will I?” Dean suddenly asked as he pulled away and looked deep into the surprised man’s eyes.

Sam lowered his eyes and stayed silent for as long as he could, before slowly looking back at the demon. “I don’t…love you, Dean. Not like that. You know that…”

He sighed and Sam recognized that look, the sadness in his brother’s eyes. It made him want to hug him, but then it was gone, the sadness vanishing, replaced by nothing at all. By cold, by hollow, by death. “Yeah, I do,” he said with a pathetic chuckle. “I can never get what I want. Not unless I take it by force, it seems.”

Frowning, Sam was about to ask what his brother meant, when he felt Dean’s firm hands on his face, slowly sliding up to his forehead, and when he realized what was going on, his heart sank and he immediately tried to free himself from the demon’s grasp.

“Dean, wait, don’t do this! You don’t have to do this!”

“Actually, I do,” he stated.

“It won’t be real!” Sam said, panicking. “You know that it won’t, it’ll never be real like that! Dean, please!”

But the demon just shrugged, tightening his hold on him. “I don’t need real, then. If real hurts, I don’t fucking need it. If you can’t love me, I’ll make you love me; it’s that simple.”

“Damn it, I know you’re hurting! We’re both hurting, so why? Why won’t you just stop?!” he shouted desperately. “Why can’t you just stop…?”

“Because,” Dean whispered, leaning closer, “unlike you, I can’t live without you. Because I _love_ you, Sam.”

And then everything—the past few days’ events, Dean’s true feelings along with Sam’s—was erased by the demon, because he needed his brother more than Sam could ever imagine. And he knew it now, knew that the person he loved the most in the entire world would never love him back by his own free will. He couldn’t survive with Sam hating him, though, so even if it meant he would have to work hard on his brother’s brain and force him to love him, he would do it. He would do it because he was desperate, and even though he knew that Sam was right, that none of it was going to be real, Dean could pretend.

He’d rather live in a fantasy world than the real one, full of pain and the love of his life unable to love him back.

However if Dean would have known then that his brother had already began doubting himself and felt his affection growing toward the demon, he would have never erased Sam’s mind. He knew none of that, though, and just like that, he lost his only chance at ever getting what he desired the most—true love.


End file.
